Beyond Words
by Phantom-Voices
Summary: Leroux based. What may have happened when the Persian and Raoul heard Erik speak to Christine through the walls of the torture chamber. Christine's point of view. Was going to be a one shot, but I'm probably going to continue it now.


**A/N:** A bit of back-story to this. A. and I had to do a thing for school where we took an extract of a novel and wrote it in a different point of view. We both chose 'Phantom of the Opera', of course. I chose this section, from where the Persian and Raoul can hear Erik talking to Christine through the torture chamber walls and put it into Christine's viewpoint.

Hope you enjoy it,

M.

"You don't love me! You don't love me! You don't love me!" proclaimed the one who had once been my angel, half-weeping, kneeling upon the floor before me. I could do nothing but stare at the masked figure on the ground, slowly resigning myself to the fate which, so it seemed, was destined for my being. When, all those months ago I had first heard the heavenly voice I had thoroughly believed to be the Angel of Music, I could never have dreamed, even in my darkest of nightmares that it would have ended in a way such as that, doomed to spend the rest of my days miserably in those gloomy cellars with _him_.

And what would happen to my dear, sweet Raoul if I was to be contained down below? Surely he would attempt, in vain, to come to my rescue. But alas! Even if he somehow found out where I was contained, it would be nearly impossible for anyone to find their way, should they not already know the route through the winding labyrinth of tunnels and pathways. My heart twisted painfully at the thought of my brave sweetheart plunging bravely into a darkness from which he would never return from alive.

I let my thoughts wander slowly back to the man who was still staring woefully up at me from behind the mask which concealed his terrible face. Yes, that was what he was after all, a man. Not the angel he had pretended to be for so long, yet not the demon which he appeared to be. He was just a man. Just Erik. A man who longed for a normal life, like anyone else. Except, of course, he was not like anyone else. I could, by then, no longer contain myself and I felt salty tears begin to flow down my cheeks. The first tear shed was for Erik, who could not ever have his heart's desire for love. The second which flowed from my eyes was for Raoul, who now would have to spend each day of his life alone, waking each and every morning with thoughts on where I was, or if I was even alive at that moment. Then the third fell for myself, for my own sorrow of not having the man I loved, for the guilt of having to break one man and lie to another. It was my captor speaking again that interrupted my sorrowful thoughts,

"Why do you cry? You know it gives me pain to see you cry!" he asked with a tenderness which would have been almost unimaginable but a moment ago. I could not help but weep harder as my clear, sapphire eyes met the small, golden specks of light which were his. Although I cannot be sure of it, I am sure that deep within those dreadful, sunken eye sockets there were tears of his own flowing under the mask. It was at that moment when I saw the first flecks of humanity burning inside him, begging to be released, to be loved, which was the one duty I could not perform for him. I could sing to the hundreds, send his soul soaring out to the world so that they may see the true beauty of his music, yet I could not love him.

That beautiful minute of invisible contact seemed to last for many hours, my eyes on his and his on mine, when the sound of an electrical bell rang through the house. As gentle as he may have seemed before, Erik now looked as equally cold and menacing, eyes flickering excitedly from side to side, breaking the connection of only seconds ago,

"Somebody ringing! Come in!" he called out to nowhere in particular, his tone dangerously cheerful. To me he added, "Who has come bothering now? Wait for me here…_I am going to tell the siren to open the door,_" in a voice so calm, while being so full of anticipation it was truly one of the most frightening things I had ever heard. I remembered then that it was him who had dragged me down there, bound me to the chair and, the worst of all that he fully intended to make _me_ his living bride. Erik rose from the floor and strode effortlessly from the room, pausing only to take what looked like a small stick from a shelf near to the door. I stared after the man, horrified beyond measure as I suppressed a shudder at the thought of what may happen to the poor, innocent soul who had discovered the house by the lake.


End file.
